


spill my guts on the floor

by PandaHero



Category: Heathers (1988)
Genre: AU: no murders, Bulimia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, POV Second Person, Self-Harm, canon typical gross behaviour, self-starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 03:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4591284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PandaHero/pseuds/PandaHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>you do it for three reasons: approval, self-loathing, and control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	spill my guts on the floor

**Author's Note:**

> "and i start to struggle, to hold myself back, from thrusting my head straight through the fucking glass"  
> \- 'island of the misfit boy' by front porch step

at first, you do it for heather’s approval.

(at first, she calls you pudgy)

she looks you over with critical eyes that burn like matches down your throat. when she finally blinks it stops and ash settles around your brain and makes you foggy.

“gosh, heather,” she laughs, the sound ringing in your ears. “did you eat your entire fridge this summer?”

heather mcnamara gives a little giggle and you look down at yourself.

(you look down at your stomach, the offending protrusion of skin heather was referring to)

it seems to  _droop_  over the waistband of your shorts and you suddenly want to shrink in on yourself until you crack all your bones. 

a flurry of questions rise like bile in your throat: how much have i eaten today? how much have i eaten this week? how many calories was that coke? how much do i weigh?

heather laughs again before staring at you with those deathly green eyes.

“you better fix yourself up before the school year.”

 

—

 

at first you just avoid food all together, tell your mother you’re sick and that you don’t want to eat. you sneak lunch the second day. a piece of cheese and some water. perfect, with this diet, you’ll be losing weight in no time.

 

—

 

you’re two weeks into your diet when heather finally notices.

“are those shorts too  _big_  on you?” she says, disbelief at the back of her voice. “looks like we need to go belt shopping.”

you smile at her. you  _grin_. you can’t help it.

she noticed, she finally noticed and you’re fucking ecstatic. 

and even as the three of you are walking through the mall and your head feels heavy and you have to lean on heather mac to keep yourself up right, you’re still the happiest you’ve been in ages. even when the whole place starts spinning and you’re just nodding along to whatever heather says (because you can’t tell what she’s saying anymore) you’re still so happy.

you’ve gotta keep this up

 

—

3:07 AM, August 19th, you take whatever your shaking arms can carry from heather mac’s fridge and stuff it all down your greedy little throat. leftovers, candy, ice-cream, sandwich toppings,  _anything._

and then you rush to the bathroom because god you ate so much and it’s just setting (what you’ve done, what’s about to happen) and you’ve probably gained back all those pounds and you just throw it all back up, hunched over the mcnamara’s toilet.

someone comes in and pulls your hair back but you  _know_ it’s not her. you know it’s not chandler.

(in the morning, you find out it was heather mac, and you nod. you were right for once. you were right and it felt so good.)

 

—

 

the morning school starts up you shove two fingers down your throat and throw up your breakfast in the newly cleaned girl’s bathroom. chandler and heather mac are standing outside waiting. waiting. you’re slowing them down, you’re so heavy that you’re  _slowing them down._

 

you do not eat lunch that day.

 

—

 

there’s a girl named veronica who hangs out with the three of you now. she has thick brown hair that stops at her shoulders and you always want to play with it. (but you have to keep your gross grubby hands to yourself.)

heather likes her. heather likes her more than you. she’s useful, she can forge things, she can make heather happy and you can’t because you’re pathetic and fat and stupid and  _worthless._

and when you realize this, it becomes less for heather’s approval and more because you fucking hate yourself.

you get two of everything at lunch, stuffing it down your throat as fast as you can, and following it with milk. heather mac and veronica are looking at you funny, like they think you’re crazy. chandler just keeps on talking, and when you stand up to leave (to puke up your fucking guts) she calls you a pillowcase.

you wish you were a pillowcase, soft and airy and  _light._ light and thin and- god you’re fat, you’re so so fat.

 

—

 

12:33 PM, December 14th is the first time veronica’s there when you throw up. she looks disgusted (horrified? no, she doesn’t like you.) you (try to) ignore her and just head to the sink to splash water on your face. heather mac hands you a mint, and chandler looks at you and scoffs.

“grow up heather,” she says, and you feel your burning throat start to close up. (do you love heather? is that why this hurts so much?) “bulimia is so 86.”

it’s then you know you will never be enough.

 

—

 

you skip school (and your meals) on the 15th. and the 16th. and the 17th.

and you want to die.

 

—

 

on the weekend, veronica catches you binging. you’d invited her and chandler and heather mac to your place for a sleepover (a distraction.) but you’re you and you’re out of control so you waited ’til they were all asleep and then you snuck down to the kitchen and began your fucking  _feast._

you’re on your knees and you’re crying and theres food crumbs all over the floor and  _god you’re gonna puke any second but you just. keep. going._

“heather,” she says, and you almost choke and whatever it is you’re eating. (you can’t tell anymore. you weren’t paying attention in the first place)

you just shake your head. your stomach drops and you feel so scared and she’s just standing there and you know ( _you know)_  that any minute she'll just say something like “ew, gross” and walk away.

you push past her. your fingers are in your throat before you hit the ground.

you avoid veronica for a solid three days after that, afraid that now she’s disgusted by you too, that she’ll laugh at the sound of you retching.

 

 

—

 

you start to buy big sweaters. they’re good for two things: hiding your gross scaly fingers, and keeping you warm (you're always so cold.)

 

—

 

heather mac seems to notice how cold you are, and even though it’s february she’s concerned. 

“do you want my sweater?”

“should you go to the nurse’s office?”

“hey, maybe you should take a nap or something.”

it annoys you even though it shouldn’t, and you know that’s because you’re a terrible person.

 

—

 

when the news comes that you’re failing chemistry your parents yell at you for 10 straight minutes (during which you realize just how  _shitty_  you are.) you cry, they yell some more, you stuff your face with ice cream and cut your hand open with a bread knife.

it hurts like fuck but it feels good and you finally have control over something. so you do it again and again until you’re dizzy and euphoric and on top of the fucking world _._ and you decide you won’t let your little binge problem control you.

you will control it.

 

—

 

you start scheduling binges. every third day, you eat as much as you can and then throw it up. for the rest of the week, you eat nothing. 

heather mac has stopped bothering you and chandler still thinks you’re too fat, which only means you haven’t done enough. (deep down you know you will never be able to do enough.)

veronica looks at you a lot and you can never tell if she’s disgusted by you or not. (you know she is, you  _know_  she is.) but she still talks to you sometimes so you figure she can at least tolerate you.

“maybe you should see a doctor,” she tells you one day. there’s this tugging in your chest and before you can think about it you’re talking.

“maybe i should.”

you don’t though.

you’re too  _scared._

 

_—_

 

you stare dead-eyed into the mirror. your shirt is gone (ripped) and you just barely managed to haul your bra back on before getting away. far  _away._  

heather’s gonna kill you for leaving the guy, she's gonna yell and scream and call you a fatty. but  _fuck he wouldn’t stop touching you, and you just wanted him to stop._  

you didn’t know his name, you don’t care all that much anyways. you feel dirty (inside and out.) you feel dirty and gross and you want to see veronica, she'll make you feel better (you love her and you know it.)

before you can say "very," you’re on your knees with your hand jammed halfway down your throat.

again, you feel in control. you have a way to rid yourself of all those gross feelings, to empty that fear from your stomach.

god you hate yourself.

 

—

 

it’s another binge night when veronica calls you.

you’re bleeding and there’s food all over your face (it’s mixing with tears and snot and you feel fucking disgusting) but it’s not like she can  _see_  that. so you answer the phone.

“yeah?” you say. you sniffle a bit, unintentionally. 

her voice is low and worried and at first all she says is “hey.” after a few minutes of silence you feel dizzy again.

“heather,” she says. “wanna go for a drive?” (she sounds so  _tired_.)

your head feels even lighter. she wants to see you. she  _wants_  to see you. (you’re grinning and you want to laugh it makes you so happy.)

“sure,” you say. 

you'd better hurry if you want to look nice.

you’d better puke if you want to be light.

 

—

 

when veronica arrives, she’s in flannel pajama pants and a worn hoodie. there are bags under her eyes and her fingertips are bright pink, like the skin has been recently burned.

before you can say anything, she hugs you. you feel weak, dizzy, and  _dead on your feet._  (you wish.)

you’re afraid to fall but at the same time you know veronica’s got you. 

and she does. she leads you out to her car and gives you a weak smile, then you strap yourself in and she heaves a long sigh when she hops in on the other side. she doesn’t put on her seatbelt.

you drive in silence for a long long time (or a short one, you don’t really know) before she speaks.

“i’m worried about you.”

“i know what i’m doing,” is your reply. your voice sounds so far away. far  _away._ veronica looks at you with these puppydog eyes and- you want to cry. so you do.

she pulls the car into the nearest parking lot (it’s the school’s) and stops. and then she’s got her arm around you and you’re shaking (you’re shaking  _so bad._ ) 

“shh,” she says, voice gentle. “shh, i gotchu.”

for a second, you think maybe she won’t leave. maybe you’ll be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> i knows this ends kinda weird but i had to vent im sorry


End file.
